


after the raven has had his say

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Burial at Sea, Character Study, Death, F/M, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Post-Episode: s08e05 The Bells, gotta channel all that complicated Lannister siblingness somewhere, just very graphically sad I suppose, probably too much talk of dead bodies with a hint of dissociation but like. not too graphic., this is just really sad and bleak and morbid and that's essentially all there is to it to be honest, to a degree and mostly of Tyrion wrt his siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: "They burn the bodies."(Or, Tyrion says goodbye in the only way he can.)





	after the raven has had his say

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, there's about two hours left until the episode, but I've come to terms with the fact that I might not actually get closure on this and I have to channel my unbearable amounts of Lannister angst somewhere just in case before that, so. Have this. Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oho-q53uiv4), because it fits very very well.
> 
> I tried to be very thorough with the warnings and you probably get the gist, but, uh. Death and mourning (as well as a bit of meta study on how outsider handle the situation) is all this really is.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it and, as always, feedback is most welcome.

They burn the bodies.

It’s a mockery of a ceremony after everything, but really, it’s the only option Tyrion has got left. It takes hours – well into the day after the start of the attack – for the dust to settle and for the rubble of the Red Keep to be searched for survivors. They find none, and the few remnants are unrecognisable by now, but not _them_. Being allowed baseless hope would be too big a gift for him to expect from the gods, he supposes, and the last shreds of it start slipping away when one of the Northerners still left brings him a silver crown by noon. He’d found it by the sea, suspiciously near to the place where Cersei’s tower had stood, but it’s still rather easy to discard as proof until he gets even nearer to the coast and catches a glimpse of Lannister crimson and a hint of gold under the ruins and the frozen winter sun. It’s no use examining any of it any further, but he does it anyway; pushes away the rocks one by one until the pieces of what he’s seeing fit together like the answer to a riddle.

He can hear someone climbing up on the pile behind him, their anxious presence lingering in the back as if unsure of what they’re supposed to do apart from wait for a reaction or an explanation and all he can offer is, “The Queen is dead.”

It’s one of their house’s soldiers, going by the armour, and he nods gravely as he takes in the scene. Both of them – both of the _bodies_ , it’s easier to think of them like this and it won’t do to entirely lose his composure now – are mostly intact, if a little bruised, their expressions almost serene despite the wreckage around them. They’re still intertwined in one another even now that it’s not up to them anymore, as if whatever is left of their presence in this world is just as physically incapable of letting go as his siblings had always been.

 _His siblings._ No, that just won’t do. _The bodies_ had been far more bearable.

“Ser Jaime too.” It’s not a question, but Tyrion nods all the same and the soldier disappears. It doesn’t last long – more people crowd him in, suddenly, both curious and wary; the few survivors that had emerged around the Red Keep clearly wanting a confirmation of their own. The city’s population had rarely had the chance to take a look at the royal family – and this is what they are now, this is what they had _been_ , what he must be to them – and it must be odd, he supposes, witnessing something like this, but it’s too late to contain it now. _The Queen is dead_. It’s disbelief and a hint of awe and more anguish than he’d expected, but it’s what he’d started and it’s spreading down the line now. _The Kingslayer too_ , is what follows, but there’s no disdain in the word now – not when they think they finally _understand_.

It’s Jon Snow, of all people, who gathers enough men to get them to the shore and the boat he’d had prepared for them. It’s not going to be of much use now, but it’s _something_. Better than pretending he’d never found them, in any case, although Tyrion would have preferred to do just that. It would have been so much easier to imagine them sailing off as the city falls apart, like their family always has before; to imagine them clawing their way through the debris of a dead world like it’s nothing, but this will have to do, as far as goodbyes go. The boat is just big enough for both of them and there’s just enough audience for this to be a funeral rather than a farewell and Tyrion will have to face the consequences of letting it happen eventually – it’s too dignified, too _public_ , and he’s spent enough time as a Hand to a handful of rulers to know that such a send-off could never do a favour to the one taking over after them, but he’s beyond caring. Has been for a while, it seems, considering that he’s the reason they’re here to begin with. It’s an unpleasant thought, but it makes him oddly proud all the same – _they would have died regardless_. This is better than his brother being executed, better than his sister burning through her last moments alone, and Tyrion has mourned them a thousand times already.

The waves lap at his feet as he places Jaime’s hand by his side; fixes Cersei’s crown on her head; lets his hand linger over her frozen fingers where they’re clutched at Jaime’s side, a perfect mirror to his brother’s grip on the side of her face. It’s never been a Lannister skill, letting go, and he _understands_ , difficult as it is after all those years.

The glint of the precious metals under the sun is almost glaring enough to drown out the chorus of rueful sighs behind him and Tyrion gives his companion a quick nod as he pushes the boat into the Narrow Sea. Wind or not, Jon Snow’s aim is impeccable and soon enough, the wood as well as its occupants are engulfed in the flames. Apart from the crackling of the fire, silence finally falls over his immediate surroundings, but he can hear the whispers in the near distance – _the Queen and the Kingslayer, the Queen and her knight,_ and, inevitably, _the last Lannister_. Someone is going to write songs about this, Tyrion thinks; almost sees himself, standing by the cliff face on his own, sending off the last remaining members of his family. Strange songs, perhaps, and rather tragic, despite his current position and because of what he’s sure will soon catch up with him, but it’s the memory of it that counts. _Father would have been proud_ , but for once, none of this is about Father. It hasn’t been in a long time.

In the end, despite everything they’d gone through – everything they’d done to each other – it all boils down to him, Jaime and Cersei and Tyrion silently puts them both to rest as the Queen and the Kingslayer disappear from his view. It’s just him now, and in a realm that suddenly feels so unbearably small, just one of them is more than enough.


End file.
